


Gray

by avxry



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety, Brief Pining, Depression, M/M, alex is Sad and tjeff helps, but not too serious, conflicted feelings, lots of feelings, possible depression trigger, they work on a project for washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: Alexander Hamilton falls back into his gray depression, and it seems that the only person capable of pulling him out is Thomas Jefferson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> yikes i'm sorry for this mess

It starts out small. Alexander barely even notices the change inside himself, it’s so subtle. It’s a tiny cloud in his brain, one little thought that almost catches him off guard.

 _You’re not as good as you think you are_.

He shrugs it off as a remnant from a mindset long past. He continues writing, trying to not acknowledge his growing distaste for the words he manages to type on the page.

Really, he should be working on his essay for Washington’s class. It’s due in three days, and he barely has an introductory paragraph, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s more focused on his own writings.

Alexander runs a blog (several actually) that’s updated almost daily, filled with his opinions on the running of the U.S. government, ranging from what he thinks of the debt plan to how the President handles foreign policy. He can talk about anything for an indeterminate amount of time, and it’s always effective, if not always entirely successful.

Its effectiveness is exactly why he shoves the thought of inadequacy from his mind. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity right now. The world (or, more specifically, his 12, 529 followers) is going to know his name.

***

At lunch with his friends, Laurens, Hercules, and Lafayette, the feeling comes back, this time in the form of an invisible sheet of gray.

Alexander is in a good mood, the colors are bright and he’s laughing at Lafayette’s misstep in their imperfect English.

Then Jefferson walks by. That usually doesn’t affect him. They usually sneer at each other a little, make some comment at the other’s expense. It’s all very comfortable at this point.

Alexander greets arrogantly, “Jefferson.”

Instead of just taunting him by returning Alexander's name, Jefferson spins on his heel and confronts him directly. “Shut the _fuck_ up, Hamilton. Nobody wants to hear you speak.” His voice is jagged and angry, and Alexander knows that his anger isn’t entirely caused by him, but that doesn’t stop the world from turning gray.

Jefferson strides away, and Alexander tries to laugh it off, return to his friends, but it falls over him. He feels nothingness barricading his mind from the outside world, locking him in. The only thing he can really feel is a twinge of anger over how he let Jefferson get to him, but he knows it isn’t really Jefferson; it’s his words, the same words that Alexander had fought himself with.

The grayness doesn’t last too long. By the end of lunch, he’s mostly okay. He feels color bleeding back into the world. He laughs and it’s genuine.

He pretends that he isn’t concerned about how easy it was to slip back into sadness.

***

John convinces him to put down his laptop and phone and relax. He fixes breakfast for dinner, Alexander’s favorite, and they sit on their beds, quietly eating.

“Did I ever mention that you’re the best roommate?” Alexander says through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Mm, once I think,” John nods thoughtfully, “but I do need reminding.”

Alexander chuckles as he continues to wolf down his food. He didn’t know he was this hungry. He had been rushing to finish Washington’s essay. They don’t talk for several minutes.

Alexander feels it again, completely unprovoked. It slides over his eyes. The bacon doesn’t taste as much like bacon as it did a few seconds ago.

He wants to tell John. He wants to just honestly say, “John, I feel my depression coming back.” He wants to so badly.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to draw that much attention to himself. He knows John would make him feel okay, he knows that John wouldn’t think him a burden, but something holds him back. He loves attention, but not that kind.

He knows that John doesn’t think he’s a bother, but at the same time, he worries that John might _eventually_ think that, and if he only has so many issues to bring up before he reaches his limit, this isn’t worth one of those. It’s just stupid, it’s not even for a reason.

He finishes his food and tells John he’s going to bed.

***

He’s in his government class, and Jefferson is ranting about something – honestly, Alexander had stopped paying attention. He knows that the lesson was about certain responsibilities of certain branches of the government, something he probably knows back and forth; he also knows that he definitely spit some kind of retort that sent Jefferson into this fury, but he can’t bring himself to remember what it was.

The grayness keeps coming back. It’s a weight inside his chest, pushing from the inside out, just enough to draw attention to itself. He feels it like a disease taking over his mind, and he’s almost outside of himself. He can see everything happening, knows what’s going on objectively, but he examines what he’s thinking and finds that he’s not thinking anything.

He can acknowledge that Professor Washington’s shirt is blue, he can acknowledge that Jefferson is yelling about something, but the colors have lost their saturation and all sounds are muted. He’s distantly worried, but he’s a little too numb to remember to wonder why.

Jefferson is apparently done. He looks smug, as if he just destroyed Alexander’s argument in one fell swoop. Maybe he did. Alexander doesn’t care.

He just says, “Whatever,” and shuts his notebook.

He gets a collection of odd looks from the classroom, including Jefferson and Washington, but he just twiddles his pen in his fingers.

Class continues despite his silence, and Alexander could not have put his sadness into any words that explained it better than that.

***

Alexander falls into a stupor of gray. John asks if he’s okay. Lafayette asks if he’s okay. Hercules asks if he’s okay.

“I’m fine, I just need to catch up on some sleep.”

Yes, that’s true, and his friends know it, but they also know it’s not the whole truth. They don’t know how to ask what else is wrong in a way that doesn’t make Alexander more distant. They try to spend more time with him, they try to comfort him subtly, they try to bring him back into the land of the living.

Alexander is having none of it. Not on purpose, of course, he can see that his friends are trying to help, but it’s as if he’s watching himself in a dream. He’s drowning in a glass box and outside, he’s watching it happen and banging on the glass, trying to yell at himself to just breathe, it’ll be okay, but then he realizes that the water is rising outside the box, too, and he starts panicking and –

Washington dismisses the class. “Don’t forget, I’m assigning groups next class.” The class gets up to leave, and Washington says, “Hamilton, a word.”

He sighs and lazily gathers his books in his arms and trudges to the front. “Yes, sir?”

Washington gives him a concerned look and replies in a hushed tone, “Are you alright, son? You’ve hardly spoken in the last two classes.”

“I’m just tired, sir,” he says, rubbing an eye for good measure. He manages a sleepy smile that he’s sure is completely transparent.

Washington purses his lips and nods once, eyebrows furrowed. “Get some rest, Alexander.”

“Yes, sir.”

He quickly exits the classroom, glad to be rid of such _sympathy_ , and is met immediately with Jefferson, infuriatingly tall and smug.

“What do you want?” he says dryly, but he can’t muster up enough energy to put any malice in his words.

Jefferson raises an eyebrow. “I _want_ to know why you aren’t debating in class. My ears may bleed at the sound of your atrocious opinions, but at least you have a vocabulary higher than that of a ninth grader.”

Alexander just sighs and tries to shrug past him, not looking up to meet his eyes.

Jefferson spins around and yells at Alexander’s back, “Shape up, Hamilton!”

Alexander uses that to fuel whatever has been taking over his mind.

***

He hasn’t eaten, hasn’t slept. That’s not to say he hasn’t tried. He tried to eat a bowl of cereal yesterday morning, but he could only get through two spoons of Frosted Flakes before he decided he just wasn’t in the mood. He actually tries to sleep, but he just lies awake, his eyes burning and his mind blank.

This, he decides, is the definition of suffering. Before, it was sometimes like a switch. He would get a little sad and then he would get over it. He’d remember that being sad, no matter how comfortable it was, was never as comfortable as being happy. It’d be okay, he’d shake his head and force the colors to come back.

This is different. It’s not a small bout of sadness, it’s not simple aftershock from his last period of intense depression like before. It’s another wave, another entire era of sadness, and he’s just too tired to do anything about it. He tells himself it’s not that bad anyway.

He goes into Washington’s class knowing that he’s going to get assigned in a group with Jefferson. It’s his luck. He’s accepted it. His life is a television drama, and this is where his storyline is headed.

When Washington calls out the names, “Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton,” Jefferson groans and mumbles, “I can’t work with him,” even though when he looks over at Alexander, he doesn’t seem annoyed so much as concerned.

Alexander is pretty sure he doesn’t care.

The project is to design a unique, comprehensive debt plan that each party agrees on, and all three of them know that this is going to be difficult.

Washington goes over the project guidelines and teaches a bit of his lesson before releasing them. Alexander takes enough notes to have a general understanding of the assignment, but he doesn’t feel the rush of excitement he used to feel when granted an opportunity to express his opinion. Everything is bland.

Jefferson chases after him when he rushes from the room.

“Hamilton!”

“What do you want, Jefferson?” he responds with an exasperated sigh.

“Here,” he says, holding his hand out. It takes Alexander a moment to see what he’s trying to give him. It’s a notebook, a slip of paper, and a bag of something – what looks like assorted hard candies. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“What is this?”

“It’s my debt plan,” Jefferson says confidently, shoving the items into his hands. “A rough draft, of course, but undoubtedly better than whatever you’ve dreamed up. Read over it. We’ll discuss tomorrow.”

Jefferson walks off, and Alexander stands there, still not exactly sure what to do with the gift he’s been so graciously and annoyingly granted. “What the hell, Jefferson?”

Jefferson turns around and walks backwards as he calls out, “I’m not going to do the entire project by myself.” But he’s got a smirk on his lips, almost jokingly, as he spins back around and saunters away.

He flips through the notebook briefly, then inspects the slip of paper. Alexander nearly sneers when he sees ten numbers scrawled across it.

He rolls his eyes, but opens the bag and pops a butterscotch into his mouth.

***

Alexander, Jefferson, and Madison are in the courtyard, sitting at a table, and Jefferson seems ready to argue, Madison at his heels, as usual.

Alexander has no fire in his voice as he says, “Jefferson, this plan is ridiculous; it would destroy the middle class.”

“Where’s _your_ plan, Hamilton?” he taunts, raising a brow. “I told you I’m not going to do all the work.”

“I _am_ right here,” Madison points out, trying to insert himself into the conversation. He’s ignored.

“He gave us the guidelines _yesterday_ ,” Alexander groans, “I’m sorry I didn’t have a plan ready five minutes after I knew I needed one.”

“It’s a shame,” Jefferson shakes his head with a click. “Alexander Hamilton, reduced to this, not even up for a debate. Truly, what is the world coming to?”

“Shut up!” Alexander yells, standing angrily. “Just _shut_ _up_! I am _done_! I am done dealing with your taunts and your insults; I’ll get Washington to move me into another group. I can’t work with you!”

“It must be nice to have Washington on your side, huh,” Jefferson replies, standing to face Alexander. “Run along to Daddy, make sure he fixes your boo-boos.”

“I _really_ don’t fucking need this right now, Jefferson!” Alexander exclaims. They’re causing a scene now. “I don’t fucking need you slamming me every change you get! Some of us have bigger problems than making sure we’re the loudest and most obnoxious man in the room!”

“You say that, yet here you are, being the loudest and most obnoxious man in the room!”

“No, Jefferson, that’s still you, you definitely still hold that title!”

“God, Hamilton, why do you always have to be the _smartest_ in the room?”

Alexander is seething as he screams, “ _That’s the fucking problem, I’m fucking not_!”

He gathers his bag and book and storms out of the courtyard, as far away from Jefferson as humanly possible. He can’t deal with this right now.

Jefferson returns to his seat on the bench calmly. He brushes his hands over his shirt, straightens his back, and looks at Madison. “What?” he says defensively.

Madison gives him a look. “That was unnecessary, and you know it.”

“He needs to see reason.”

“ _You_ need to see reason,” Madison responds. “He may be annoying, and you may not agree with him on anything, but obviously he’s struggling right now. Why do you insist on making everything difficult?”

“Since when do you care about Hamilton?” Jefferson prompts, wrinkling his nose.

Madison shuts his book loudly, seemingly frustrated. “I saw you give him the candy, Thomas. I know you care more than you admit.”

“I do not,” he says defiantly, but Madison sees right through him.

“Cut it out,” he demands with a roll of his eyes. “The next time you see Hamilton, apologize.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” he grumbles, but there’s no force behind it.

“Yes, you do.”

He grumpily sighs in resignation.

***

Alexander and Jefferson see each other later that day, to the dismay of both of them. Alexander arrives at a coffee shop he frequents during the afternoons only to end up in line directly behind Thomas Jefferson, the singular person he would kill to not see right now.

He internally sighs and hopes that he isn’t noticed.

That, of course, is not his luck.

Jefferson turns around at the chime of the bell on the door, the nosy little shit, and sees Alexander. He turns his nose up.

Alexander tries to ignore him, but that’s not his luck either.

“Hamilton.”

“Jefferson.”

Alexander hears the man sigh to himself, as if about to do something he’ll regret.

“Listen,” Jefferson begins, “I’m sorry about earlier.” He grinds out the words as if he’s in pain.

Alexander rolls his eyes. “I might accept your apology if it sounded sincere at all.”

“Jesus, Hamilton, not everything has to be an argument.”

“Says you!” Alexander exclaims, trying to keep his voice low.

“Yes, says me!” Jefferson replies. “I’m trying here!”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

They both huff and turn away from each other, trying to mind their own business. Alexander ignores Jefferson as best he can. He gets up to the counter, orders a plain black coffee, and tries to pay, but the cashier shakes her head.

“The man before you paid for yours,” she says with a anxious smile. She clearly heard their exchange from before.

Alexander clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he says. He takes his coffee and leaves the shop, wondering what the hell has come over Jefferson.

***

Whatever happened to Jefferson, Alexander isn’t sure he’s comfortable with it. They meet for lunch the next day to discuss the debt plan. Alexander feels depression crawling all over his skin, feels it grasping at him. He tries to put it out of his mind and focus on Jefferson’s odd behavior.

He hasn’t yelled once this session, and he’s actually been civil. They haven’t reached any agreements, but then again, Alexander doesn’t have a tangible plan yet, just bullet points in his mind. He doesn’t know exactly what his plan is; he just knows he doesn’t like Jefferson’s.

“First of all,” he says, trying to not raise his voice, “paper money _is_ superior to coins – “

“That’s entirely ridiculous,” Jefferson counters. “Coins are far more durable, paper money just rips – “

“It’s so much easier to make bank notes!” Alexander says, lightly tossing his hands in the air. “Making paper money is faster and cheaper – “

They go back and forth, getting off topic every few minutes until Madison drags them back to the issue at hand. It’s odd, though; none of their remarks are biting or malicious. This is a calm, sensible debate, and Alexander finds himself falling back into a rhythm. He feels the cloud lift a little.

They leave lunch without making a single compromise, but Alexander doesn’t really think it was a waste. The retreat back to normalcy was comforting.

If his friends notice that he smiles a little more when he returns from lunch, well, they don’t say anything.

Two days later, Alexander has devolved into a barely sentient human being. He wakes up, goes to class, and has lunch with his friends all while feeling like a literal zombie. He’s going through the motions, not even listening. He doesn’t even deny it when Hercules asks him if he’s okay.

“No,” he says, “but just let me deal with it today. Please.”

And so they do. They let him deal with it, keeping him at arm’s length as long as they can, until Alexander leaves to meet up with Jefferson and Madison for the project.

“Are you sure you want to go?” John asks, concern in his eyes as he places a gentle hand on Alexander’s elbow. “Laf can text Jefferson and tell him you can’t come today.”

Alexander shrugs. “I’ll be okay.”

John looks at him sympathetically, knowing that he won’t be, but he lets him go. Maybe he’ll get into a debate and snap out of this. He embraces Alexander briefly, places a kind kiss to his cheek, and whispers, “Call me if you need anything, Alexander.”

Alexander nods numbly and gives John as much of a smile as he can. He heads off to meet Jefferson and Madison at the courtyard again.

When he gets there, the other two are already sitting with their notebooks and pens out, seemingly discussing the debt plan. Were he in any state to feel anything, he would have felt a distinct distaste for working on this project right now.

Jefferson and Madison look up when he arrives. They immediately notice something is off.

In a strange shock of sympathy, Jefferson says, “Hamilton, you look like death. Are you okay?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Madison raises an eyebrow in what might be concern. “We can reconvene tomorrow,” he offers.

“I’m already here,” Alexander says resignedly, sitting down and opening his notebook to his debt plan notes. “Where were we?”

Jefferson and Madison share a look, but instead of prodding further into the subject, they turn to their notes and reignite the conversation they had been having before.

Alexander barely talks during the whole meeting. He answers questions when prompted and adds in small comments when he just can’t help himself, but despite those few moments, he is silent.

Jefferson doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

When they decide to call it a day, Madison says he needs to get back to his dorm and work on an essay, so he leaves quickly, giving Jefferson a sly glance that Alexander barely catches. He absently wonders what it means, but he finds that it doesn’t matter much.

Jefferson doesn’t leave with nearly as much haste. He lingers for a moment, lackadaisically gathering his notebooks and bags. Alexander is leaving sluggishly when Jefferson catches his arm. He raises an eyebrow and turns.

“Yes?”

“You look hungry,” Jefferson says, and Alexander thinks he almost sees a hint of nervousness in his face. “Let’s have dinner. My treat.”

Alexander takes a moment to distantly wonder what game Jefferson is playing before he says, “I’m okay,” and tries to walk away.

“Hamilton, I’m not asking.”

Alexander feels what little emotion he can coursing through him. He’s annoyed. “And somehow, I’m still saying no.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he replies.

Alexander studies his face for a moment and decides that no, Jefferson isn’t going to take no for an answer. He doesn’t have the energy to fight. So he sighs and nods in reluctant agreement. Jefferson nods back, “Good,” and he follows him out of the courtyard and slightly off campus.

Jefferson doesn’t try to make conversation during the walk, which Alexander is grateful for. He really _hasn’t_ been eating (or sleeping, for that matter), and he’s weak from fatigue. Thankfully, they don’t walk far.

He stops at a quaint little café that Alexander had never noticed before. Apparently, Jefferson is a regular, because the woman behind the counter smiles when he enters and exclaims, “Thomas! It’s nice to see you!”

“You too, Sally,” he smiles politely, approaching the counter. “Can I get two black coffees and two double subs?”

“Coming right up,” she grins cheerfully, and heads back to the kitchen.

Jefferson then turns back to Alexander and leads him to a small table in the corner, pressed up against the large storefront window. Alexander sits with his back to the wall. Jefferson takes the seat across from him.

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

It isn’t a question. Alexander doesn’t deny it. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“Why do you care?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I don’t know.”

Alexander looks at his hands, folded on the table. He doesn’t speak for a few minutes. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t even know if he has the physical power to say anything at all. Finally, he musters up enough energy to say simply, “Depression.”

The word feels oddly personal, as if it’s something he shouldn’t be telling Jefferson. He hasn’t even explicitly told his friends.

“Obviously.”

Alexander rolls his eyes. He wants to be annoyed at Jefferson’s response, but maybe the brutality of it is why he told him in the first place. It’s better than his friends’ fussing. It’s refreshing.

“Well, you asked.”

Jefferson shrugs. “This project will never get done if you don’t get some rest.”

“Is that all you care about?” Alexander asks bitterly, still not looking up from his hands. “The stupid project?”

“Not really.”

Alexander finally looks up at Jefferson’s nonchalant tone.

“I care about a lot of things,” Jefferson elaborates, “the project just happens to be one of them.”

“What could _you_ possibly care about?”

Jefferson raises a single eyebrow. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” He doesn’t say anything else for a few moments, and Alexander wonders briefly if he struck a nerve. “I _am_ human, you know.” Jefferson more so mumbles this than says it out loud.

Alexander’s first instinct is to say, “Could’ve fooled me,” but that feels a little cruel, even for him at this point. Instead, he settles for, “Sorry.”

Jefferson doesn’t have a chance to answer. The woman he referred to as Sally approaches their table with two coffees and two sandwiches on a tray.

“Enjoy!” she exclaims happily. Alexander almost thinks he sees Sally wink at Jefferson discreetly, but he attributes it to his drowsiness.

Jefferson sips on his coffee and splits his sub in half. He takes a huge bite and Alexander wonders how he manages to make even such an unflattering act look elegant.

Alexander picks at the bread on his sandwich.

“Alexander, eat,” Jefferson says, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin from the dispenser. Alexander groans lightly and keeps picking at the bread. Jefferson places his sandwich back down and leans over the table closer than necessary to give him a stern look. “This is non-negotiable.”

“Since when do we negotiate?” Alexander retorts. He realizes he’s being petty but he just doesn’t care.

“We don’t,” Jefferson says, “that’s my point.”

Alexander sighs, looks down at his sandwich, and, with a reluctant expression, picks it up and takes a small bite. He swallows, and the second the food hits his stomach, he realizes how hungry he is. Half of the sandwich is gone in a minute. Jefferson tries not to stare.

They don’t speak. There’s an atmosphere of slight awkwardness, but it isn’t overwhelming. If Alexander didn’t know better, he might say that it was a comfortable awkwardness.

Jefferson sips his coffee again, and then sets it down with purpose. Alexander senses a conversation. He wills himself to not groan.

“You have to take care of yourself, Hamilton.”

“Jefferson,” Alexander says, licking a trace of mustard off his pinky, “this really isn’t your place.”

“I paid for the sandwich you’re currently demolishing,” Jefferson says matter-of-factly. “So I would say I’ve at least become involved.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Would you have eaten otherwise?”

Alexander falls silent. He slows his eating for a moment. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

“Exactly.” Jefferson seems to look at him with pity, and when Alexander sees it, he suddenly feels very small.

“I don’t need your pity, Jefferson,” he spits bitingly, dropping his sandwich and looking him in the eye. “You can focus your attention elsewhere, like that horrific debt plan you’ve concocted.”

“Do you really think that just because I’m not arguing with you that I’m pitying you?” Jefferson prompts.

“Yes,” he answers plainly. “We argue. We debate. We yell and get angry and we don’t buy each other dinner.” _There’s a line, and you’ve crossed it_ , Alexander thinks. He hopes Jefferson can read his thoughts.

“Well, apparently, we _do_ buy each other dinner, when it’s necessary,” Jefferson replies. Alexander internally groans and accepts that Jefferson is not letting this go. He gives up. He’s too tired. He finishes his sandwich in silence, and then downs his coffee in record time.

Jefferson just stares. Something about Alexander’s demeanor is setting him on edge. It makes him uncomfortable to see someone usually so put-together (even if he was still a mess) become something so incredibly _not_. There are deep purple rings around his bloodshot eyes and his hair is a rat’s nest. Jefferson resists the urge to comb through it. He tries not to think about how strange that urge really is.

Jefferson has just finished one half of his sandwich and not even a quarter of his coffee when Alexander’s eyes begin to droop. Jefferson sighs and calls Sally over, asking for a to-go box. She retrieves one, and Jefferson puts his sandwich inside and drinks as much of his coffee as he can before standing and pulling Alexander with him.

“What’re you doing?” Alexander questions. His voice is slurred from drowsiness but he can’t help it. Jefferson has him by the arm, pulling him from his seat.

“Taking you home.” Jefferson leaves a tip on the table and pays Sally at the front before dragging Alexander outside and toward campus. Alexander is powerless, practically asleep, still being handled by Jefferson. In his right mind, he would have been incredibly defiant, but he’s just _so tired_.

When they get back on campus, Alexander wearily gives Jefferson directions to his dorm, conveniently in the same building as his. They get there with minimal difficulty.

Jefferson knocks on the door. It’s opened to reveal a confused John Laurens, who doesn’t quite know what to make of this sight.

Alexander is practically in Jefferson’s arms, leaning on him heavily, half asleep.

“Um,” John starts, but Jefferson cuts him off.

“I made him eat something,” he says, then tries to hand him over. “He’s all yours.”

John stammers again, “Um.” He gather Alexander in his arms and manages a bewildered “thanks, Jefferson,” before the man turns and stalks away. John shuts the door and tucks Alexander into bed.

***

Alexander doesn’t get any better. He continues his descent into this whirlwind of depression. He barely eats, he doesn’t sleep, and he avoids talking as much as he can.

His friends are helpless. They feel useless when they try to help him; nothing gets through. Alexander tells them that yes, he’s depressed, but no, it isn’t a big deal. They don’t really believe him, but there’s not really anything they can do. They just watch out for him.

Alexander numbly meets Jefferson and Madison at their usual table in the courtyard, and they know that he’s been bad, but he hasn’t been this bad before.

He drops into his seat and pulls out his notebook. He doesn’t meet their eyes, doesn’t greet them. He doesn’t even open his notebook.

Jefferson and Madison share a look. Madison shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Jefferson squints in reply, but Madison hardens his expression and shakes his head stronger this time. Jefferson glares and internally groans.

Alexander doesn’t see any of it.

Madison shuts his book. “I have somewhere to be, I’m afraid. We can reconvene at a later date.” Without another word, he rises from the table and strides off. Alexander doesn’t react.

Jefferson wants to fabricate his own excuse, but one look at Hamilton’s disheveled state convinces him otherwise, if reluctantly. His eyes are sunken in, surrounded in deep purple. He’s gone pale and thin, his face becoming a gaunt image ingrained in Jefferson’s mind. He’s annoyed that he cares.

“Come on, Hamilton.”

Alexander just barely tilts his head up in response. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask a question.

Jefferson lifts himself from the table and walks around it to retrieve Hamilton, who hasn’t caught on yet. “We’re going somewhere.”

Alexander doesn’t budge. Jefferson sighs inwardly and puts Hamilton’s notebook back in his bag and carries it himself, seeing as he doesn’t have his own with him. He pulls Hamilton up by the arm and starts dragging him out of the courtyard. He’s met with no resistance.

Alexander is vaguely aware that he doesn’t want to do this, but he just doesn’t care anymore. He follows Jefferson numbly as he’s taken out of the way of the crowds and into a tiny cluster of trees in the midst of an open campus. They arrive at a bulky, thick tree and Jefferson tosses Alexander’s bag down at the bottom of it.

“Go on,” Jefferson says expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Alexander looks at him as questioningly as he can manage.

“Climb up,” Jefferson elaborates, “I’ll be right behind you.”

Alexander shakes his head.

Jefferson curses loudly in his head and throws his arms into the air. “Hamilton, if you don’t let me help you, I swear I will make your life even more hellish than it already is.”

Alexander bites back a bitter laugh. “As if.”

Jefferson hides a little smile. At least Hamilton’s talking. He decides to not push the climbing. He drops onto the ground and leans his back against the tree, staring up at Hamilton, willing him to sit down beside him.

Thankfully, Hamilton complies without as much as an annoyed expression. They sit quietly for several minutes, watching the other students milling about across the open grounds. After a long while, Alexander finally speaks.

“Stop trying to help me.”

Jefferson wants to be indignant, to start a comfortable argument. He wants to fall back into his excuse, “It’s for the project,” but he doesn’t. He finds it in himself to not argue this time. Instead, he says, “You need help.”

“Not true.”

“If the shoe fits . . .” He rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice in his tone. He lets out a sigh and says, almost reluctantly, “It makes me uncomfortable when you’re quiet.”

Alexander huffs. “Sorry my depression is _inconvenient_ for you.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

Alexander does know, but that little part of him in the back of his mind that isn’t completely gone still wants to argue with Jefferson, comply with their routine.

They don’t say anything again. Jefferson is slightly annoyed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. Finally, he says, “What’s going on, Hamilton?” The way it comes out, it sounds less like a question and more like a surrender.

Alexander almost doesn’t answer. He somehow finds the energy to say, “I’m just depressed.”

“Clearly,” Jefferson says, accenting his reply with a raised eyebrow. “What else?”

“Nothing.”

“Fucking talk to me, Hamilton!” Jefferson exclaims, unfortunately louder than he had intended. Hamilton winces and he immediately regrets his response. “I’m sorry – look, I’m sorry. Hamilton – “

“Why the hell do you care so much?” Alexander replies bitingly, coldly, staring Jefferson in the eyes. There’s finally a flame igniting inside him, finally a reason to not feel so completely numb. “I don’t want your help!”

“I don’t care if you don’t want my help, Hamilton, you need it!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes you do, now, be sensible – “

“Jefferson, the last person I want help from is _you_.” He says it fiercely and firmly, deadly. It makes Jefferson stop, wonder why that struck a chord with him.

Finally, he says, “ _I_ want to help _you.”_ He sighs. “Admittedly, I don’t know why, but . . .” He trails off, as if he suddenly lost the ability to speak. He doesn’t know how to word this to make it seem not-weird. He settles for honesty. “I don’t like it when you’re quiet.”

“I don’t like it when you’re _not_ quiet.”

“How do you even have the energy to argue with me right now?” Jefferson prompts, turning to look at Alexander incredulously, taking in his appearance again. “You look half dead.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hamilton, I swear . . .”

There’s no response. It seems Alexander has lost some of his will to fight. Jefferson is grateful for the lack of opposition, but is also a little worried that he’ll dive back into silence like before.

That’s not the case. Alexander says after a few minutes, “Why did you bring me here?”

His voice is small, quiet, weak. It throws him off. Something about Hamilton acting small tugs at him, despite his actual small stature.

He sighs a little. “You’re not allowed to repeat this.”

“Just tell me.”

Jefferson eyes him out of the corner of his eye and questions Alexander’s character. _Screw it._

“I have . . . episodes . . . of anxiety. The first time I freaked out, I essentially collapsed here, so. Now I come here to calm down, though I usually end up climbing up.”

Alexander finds that he’s almost touched by Jefferson’s confession. He doesn’t speak, but he thinks about it, mulls it over in his mind for a few moments. It comforts him. He feels the veil trying to lift itself off his eyes.

Finally, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hamilton.”

“You’re still a jerk.”

“And you’re still annoying.”

They don’t mean it as much as they think.

***

Alexander is getting better, slowly but surely. Outwardly, nothing has really changed, but his friends can see something, something different, brighter about him. He gives off a different aura than he did before. They privately assume that it has something to do with Jefferson, but they don’t want to risk making it worse.

Alexander, Jefferson, and Madison still meet up for the project regularly, and even Madison has noticed a change. He’d almost go so far as to say that the other two are being friendly. They still argue, but it seems that they no longer do it out of spite. He even thinks he catches them smiling at each other.

One day, John enters his dorm to find Alexander, perched on his bed, reading a textbook, but most shockingly, he has a half-eaten granola bar in his hand.

John smiles in relief to himself. “It’s good to see you’re eating.”

Alexander looks up and nods. “Uh, yeah, Jefferson made me take it.”

He returns to his studies, but John is left, standing there in surprise. Jefferson? _Thomas_ Jefferson, a man he’s despised since the beginning?

John shakes his head and doesn’t say anything, just wonders.

Thomas is sitting in the library, typing up an essay for his psychology class, when James sits down beside him.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“With this essay?” Thomas grins, “Genius, right?”

“No,” James replies impatiently, “with Hamilton.”

Jefferson feels his body want to freeze, but it doesn’t. He keeps typing as if he isn’t fazed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Helping him.”

“Well, he’s been useless with the project so far, so we need him to get to work – “

“Shut up,” James interrupts firmly. “You know it’s more than that.”

“Is not.”

“ _Thomas_.”

“What?”

Thomas finally looks away from the screen to look at James indignantly, trying to act as if he has nothing at all to hide (he doesn’t, does he?). 

James replies pointedly, “Admit it; you miss him – the not-depressed him.”

 _Well,_ Thomas muses silently, _it could have been a worse assumption_ , though he isn’t sure why he’s relieved that James’s statement was so harmless.

“I’m bored without our debates,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“You care about him,” James smirks. “You don’t have to say it. You honestly probably don’t even know yet, you tend to be clueless, but _I_ know everything, remember?”

Thomas rolls his eyes, shrugging off the implication. That’s definitely not it; he doesn’t _care_ about Hamilton – he _cares_ about this project and his declining ability to hold a proper debate. He just wants his opponent back.

He goes back to writing.

***

Alexander is with his friends. Today has been not bad; maybe not good, but definitely not bad. He even laughs at a few of the jokes his friends make, true, genuine laughs.

“I am just saying that seeing Hercules on a horse would be funny,” Lafayette says with a grin and a shrug, giving Hercules, who raises an eyebrow, a teasing glance.

Alexander laughs in agreement, then adds, “That reminds me of this story Jefferson told the other day; his cousin tried to ride a horse but his foot got tangled in the stirrup. He didn’t want to tell anybody that he couldn’t get it out, so he just rode the horse for hours.”

Alexander chuckles to himself some more, but the other three are looking at him strangely. That’s the longest he’s spoken in nearly two weeks, and about _Jefferson_ , no less.

They each share a look. They want to be concerned, but Alexander looks much brighter. How could they question that?

Thomas receives a text.

_From: Lafayette_

_My friends and I would like you to join us for lunch tomorrow at the Community Café._

Thomas is in his psychology class, sitting next to James. He raises an eyebrow and leans over to show James the text.

“What do you think?” he whispers.

“What do _you_ think?” James echoes, clearly trying to pay attention to the professor.

“I mean, I don’t know,” Thomas admits, settling back into his chair. “What if it’s a trap?”

“This isn’t a teen angst movie, Thomas,” James replies, writing down some notes. “They probably want to talk to you about Hamilton.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because he’s their friend?” he answers impatiently. “Friends do that.”

“That seems a little . . . forward.”

“Not all of us can be as cunning as you.”

Thomas chews on his lip for a minute. He’s completely tuned out the professor at this point. James is relieved, thinking that Thomas is done talking.

“Should I go?”

His shoulders drop in disappointment. He sets his pencil down in frustration and turns to look directly at Thomas. “Yes. You should go. You clearly want to – “

“Excuse me!” the professor says loudly, their sharp gaze having landed on Thomas and James.

“Sorry, xir,” James apologizes, then shoots Thomas a look full of blame.

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbles. The professor begins teaching again and instead of paying attention, Thomas looks back down to his phone. Maybe they really do just want to have lunch. _Not all of us can be as cunning as you_.

He doesn’t reply through the rest of the class. He barely takes notes, preoccupied in his thoughts (he briefly notices the irony of being in a psychology class).

When they’re released, he gathers his bag and waits for James to pack up. On the way out, he asks, “Will you go with me?”

James is about to groan and say no, he wasn’t invited, but he looks over at Thomas, who is basically pleading with his eyes, and concedes.

“Thank you, James.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

_To: Lafayette_

_What time?_

***

Alexander isn't informed that Jefferson is joining them until the man himself, along with Madison, walks through the door. He wants to be a little peeved about it, but he isn't.

Jefferson and Madison sit down, Jefferson directly across from Alexander. They smile politely in greeting.

"Hello," Jefferson smiles charmingly. He's answered by a chorus of hellos in return. He's expecting a bitter response, but surprisingly, none of Hamilton's friends seem very annoyed at his presence. Unsurprisingly, that puts him slightly more on edge.

They easily fall into a conversation, and Thomas finds that he's enjoying himself. He relaxes in his chair. James seems to be doing well too; he had told Thomas that he really didn't want to come, but he's joking around and laughing anyway. Alexander's friends are entertaining and easy to get along with.

While Hercules is telling a story about his English class, Alexander and Thomas share a look.

 _I didn't know you were coming_ , Alexander conveys.

Thomas shrugs in slight apology.

Hercules hits the punchline and everyone laughs. Alexander and Thomas look at each other with sparkling eyes, giggling, and Lafayette sees it. They smile softly.

Out of nowhere, Lafayette declares, "I have to go to the bathroom – Alexander, join me."

This was rehearsed between Lafayette, John, and Hercules. Alexander, of course, had no idea. He gives Laf a questioning look, but shrugs, agreeing and attributing it to a French thing.

The two of them head off to the bathroom, leaving the rest of them behind. John and Hercules suddenly become very serious, and Thomas thinks, _I fucking knew it. James, you suck_.

"Listen," Hercules says, a single eyebrow raised, "Alexander is getting better, and it's because of you." He's looking directly at Thomas, who feels incredibly uncomfortable beneath his scrutinizing gaze.

John continues, "You need to keep doing whatever it is that you're doing. You may not care –"

James snorts to himself, taking a sip of his drink. The attention is drawn to him.

"What?" John questions.

James clears his throat. "Thomas cares. Trust me, he wants Hamilton well almost as much as you do."

Hercules and John furrow their eyebrows and say simultaneously, "What do you mean?"

James smirks to himself, acting innocent. "Yeah, Thomas, what _do_ I mean?"

"Nothing," Thomas cuts in quickly. He can almost feel his cheeks flushing. He feels his insides twist and turn. He gathers his wits. "James likes to romanticize . . . things."

"As if," James mumbles, but he goes back to eating, clearly done with the conversation.

John and Hercules share a look, silently communicating. Finally, John says, "Anyway . . . Just . . . Keep doing what you're doing."

"If you make him worse," Hercules says, making fierce eye contact with Thomas, "I will make your life a living hell."

Thomas swallows thickly. He nods, not doubting for a second that Hercules is being serious. Before he can respond, Lafayette and Alexander return from the bathroom, and John and Hercules fall back into their previous personas.

Thomas finds it difficult to chat.

***

"Honestly, Thomas, what did you expect?" James says as they're leaving. "That was pretty mild."

"I _expected_ a pleasant lunch," Thomas replies indignantly. "Not _that_."

"They're just being like protective siblings," James shrugs. "It could have been _much_ worse."

Thomas wrinkles his nose. "You say that like we're dating."

James smirks and just shrugs. Thomas looks at him in realization. "Ugh, ew, no!" He shakes his limbs, as if ridding his body of contamination. "Ugh."

James just smiles to himself.

***

Madison, Jefferson and Alexander are at their table in the courtyard. It's early morning and they've gotten absolutely nowhere.

Madison groans and rubs his eyes. "Alright, you all can continue, but I have class. Good luck with – "he flicks his hand about "– this." He leaves the table and trudges away.

Alexander rubs his temples. He's much too tired for this debate to continue. He lies is head down on his arms.

"Well, I'm done for the day," Jefferson announces, then stands up and heads off in the direction of his dorm building. Alexander feels a twinge of annoyance that he would just leave –

"You coming?"

He lifts his head wearily to see Jefferson, several paces away, waiting expectantly. Alexander finds himself smiling a little as he throws his bag on his shoulder and joins him.

They walk in silence for the first minute or so, until Jefferson says, "You friends gave me The Talk – capital letters."

Alexander furrows his eyebrows. "Why would they do that?"

"I guess they think we're friends or something," Jefferson says, and Alexander can tell that he's joking, but it strikes him deep even so. He feels his shoulders slump against his own will. _Fucking depression._

Jefferson looks over at Alexander's lack of response and sees what he's done. "I'm joking, Hamilton," he says, nudging his shoulder a little. "I think we've reached friend-status."

Alexander feels better, enough to tease, "Friends-ish."

"Whatever you say."

Alexander grins all the way back to the dorms.

***

Alexander sits on his bed, half-asleep, when John emerges in the doorway with Lafayette in tow. They're giggling in close quarters, and Alexander lazily smiles at them.

"Alexander!" Lafayette greets happily, dropping onto John's bed. "How are you, _mon ami_?"

"I'm actually okay, Laf," Alexander replies with a nod, "really."

"That's so good, Alex," John smiles at him warmly, then cuddles up beside Lafayette. He then adds cheekily, "Would it have anything to do with Jefferson?"

Alexander looks at them, confused. "What do you mean?"

John and Lafayette share a look, then turn back to Alexander. Lafayette says, "You have been spending a lot more time with him recently . . ."

Alexander shakes his head in denial. "Not like that. It's just the project."

"You _do_ talk about him a lot," John contributes with a nod. "We're just saying . . ."

"It seems as if you and Thomas have a . . ." Lafayette trails off, shrugging. "A thing."

Alexander scoffs gently. "No, Thomas and I _don't_ have a thing." He absently notes that he said _Thomas_ but shrugs it off as a fluke.

"Whatever you say."

The other two return to giggling to themselves cutely, but John's response returns him to what Thomas said about their friendship. A part of his mind (definitely the part that's already asleep) begins to wander, entertaining the idea that he _did_ have a thing for Thomas.

He shakes it off and tries to get some sleep (Thomas made him promise he would).

***

Alexander is bad – more than bad. He can't function. He went to sleep last night and woke up an hour ago and he hasn't moved. It's too much. It's all too much. He stares at the wall. He doesn't feel anything.

John wakes up eventually and doesn't say anything. He thinks Alexander is still asleep. Alexander couldn't care less.

John makes a cup of coffee and sits back down on his bed, pulls out his phone, and starts scrolling through his apps.

Alexander lets out a sniff and John raises an eyebrow. "You awake?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn’t even move. He's not trying to pretend to be asleep, but doesn't care. Too much.

John rises from his bed, sets down his cup and phone, and shakes Alexander's shoulder gently, peering over to see his eyes open. He frowns. "Alexander, are you okay?" He doesn't answer again, and this time, he doesn't have to. "Alexander, look at me. Alexander."

No response. John concernedly sits down on the bed and holds Alexander as much as he can in such a position. He mumbles, "Talk to me, Alexander, please. I love you."

Alexander swallows, hopes that John knows that he loves him too, but it's too much.

John doesn't leave. He skips his classes that day and calls Lafayette and Hercules to tell them that he's staying with Alexander. They offer to come and help, but John says no, he doesn't want to overwhelm him. They understand, but they worry the entire day, calling back every hour. Nothing changes.

When it comes time for Alexander to meet Jefferson and Madison, he still doesn't budge. The other two are at the table in the courtyard. At first, they attribute his tardiness to his typical flustered personality.

When he doesn't show up for another twenty minutes, Thomas begins to worry.

James shrugs, "He probably just had something to do today."

Thomas rolls his lips and tries to focus on his plan. He can't. He's much more worried than he wants to admit.

James notices his friend's anxiety about Hamilton's absence and sighs. "Go see what he's up to. I have other things to do anyway."

Thomas doesn't have to be told twice (not that he rushes off or anything, though he does get to Alexander's dorm in record time).

He knocks on the door and is met with the worried face of John Laurens. "Thomas?"

Thomas looks more concerned than he would really like to, but he just says, "Uh, Alexander didn't show up for the project, so I was just . . ." He spots Alexander, still lying down, facing the wall. "Is he okay?"

John's face droops low in saddened worry. "No. He won't talk. Listen, I don't think . . ." He's about to tell Thomas that he should just leave, let Alexander relax a little, but he thinks better of it. He squints at Thomas curiously, then says, "Actually, come in. Maybe you can get through to him."

Thomas nods gratefully and moves past John. "Hamilton?" No answer. " . . . Alexander?" Still nothing. Thomas looks back at John. "He's been like this all day?"

John nods. They share a concerned look. "If you're okay here, I'm going to go get some food," John says. It's almost a question.

"Sure," Thomas nods. John returns the action and, with one last look at Alexander, exits.

Thomas is alone with Alexander, and he feels more vulnerable than he expected. He gently, unsurely sits at the foot of Alexander's bed, careful not to touch him.

He swallows thickly. "Alexander?" He doesn't know why he expects a response. "Please talk to me." His voice is far more unsteady than he would like for it to be. He begins talking and finds himself rambling. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now. Honestly, I'm not sure why I came. You just didn't show up, and of course, I have to make sure you're doing your part . . ." He glances at Alexander's face, mostly hidden by the blanket tucked up to his eyes. He searches for some sign of acknowledgement, but there's nothing.

"Alexander, I know you hate me or whatever," he begins, already regretting this, "but like I said, I guess – I guess we're friends now, so – I'm just saying that – you know – I don't know, I just – I don't like seeing you like – "

A mumble. Thomas hears a mumble from underneath the blanket and he almost jumps in surprise.

"What?"

"Shut up," Alexander says, his voice dry and quiet and gargled, but that's definitely what he said, and he definitely said something. Thomas finds himself smiling, staring at the floor.

"Nah," he says, relaxing a little more now. "I think I'll just keep annoying you. You know, James was telling me about some of his ideas for the debt plan, and I have to say, they're pretty good. Of course, you wouldn't agree, you don't typically like anything that would _help_ –"

"Anything else."

"Hm?"

"Talk about anything else."

Alexander voice is still garbled and slurred and numb, but Thomas is grinning wildly to himself. "It's nice outside today. Windy, but nice. Do you prefer it cold or hot?"

"Hot."

"Ugh," Thomas replies, shaking his head. "Too sticky. I like snow."

"S'nice."

"What, hot or snow?"

"Snow."

Thomas smiles fondly. "You should see Virginia in the winter. It doesn't really snow often, but when it does, it's beautiful." Alexander absently notes that Thomas slips further into his southern accent. "The hills covered in snow, all the trees – everything is silent and white." Thomas's voice fills with wonder at the thought. He briefly imagines what it would be like to see Alexander in the snow in Virginia before he shakes the thought from his mind. "Anyway."

"Keep talking."

Thomas looks over at Alexander, feeling something he either doesn't understand or deliberately ignores. Either way, he keeps talking about Virginia. He talks about the snow a little more, and then how hot the summers get, and how pretty the sky is at night, how you can actually see stars. Alexander has inched onto his side even more, turning his head to face Thomas.

Thomas doesn't even really look at him, but Alexander watches him talk. Thomas talks with his hands, and he wonders how he hadn't noticed after so long of debating. His face lights up when he talks about Virginia. Alexander still feels numb, but the too-muchness of it all is ebbing away little by little.

John returns a little later, a bag of Chinese food in his hand. He looks expectantly at Thomas, who smiles at him and nods. John sees that Alexander has shifted positions and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Hey, Alex," he says, placing the bag down on his bed. "How are you?"

Alexander lets out nothing more than a quiet groan, but John is visibly relieved. He looks Thomas in the eyes, gratitude written all over his face. He mouths, "Thank you," and Thomas nods once, a polite smile on his lips.

Thomas clears his throat. "Alright, Alexander. It's time to eat. Come on, up." His tone leaves no room for resistance.

Alexander doesn't immediately comply. He sniffles and rolls his shoulders a little. He glances over at Thomas, who raises an eyebrow, daring him to disobey.

Alexander sighs to himself quietly and wills his wobbly limbs to move. He clumsily shuffles so that his shoulders are slightly against the headboard. He's not really sitting up, but it's all he's willing to do.

John looks at Thomas as if he's a miracle-worker – he might be.

John passes out the Chinese, handing a box to Alex and a box to Thomas, who gives his thanks in surprise.

"I didn't know if you were hungry, so I got extra," John shrugs, but he's not really looking at Thomas. He's keeping his eyes on Alexander, who fumbles with the chopsticks until he picks at a piece of chicken, nibbling on it slowly.

They eat in silence. Alexander hardly gets through enough to fill him up, but John and Thomas are satisfied.

Thomas announces that he'd better get going, he has homework to do and everything. He shares a look with Alexander, silently thanking him for interacting. Alexander gives him a slightly grateful look, as much as he can muster.

Thomas gets up to leave and John follows him out, shutting the door behind them.

"Thank you, Thomas," he says sincerely, looking him in the eyes. "Really. I don't know what you did, but you did it better than I could have."

"I just talked to him."

"Exactly," John nods. "He likes you, Thomas. You're important to him. I don't know why he suddenly changed his mind about you, but . . . I don't know. Seriously. Thank you."

"Any time," Thomas says, feeling slightly uncomfortable under John's firm gaze.

They say goodbye, and Thomas walks off, significantly calmer than he was when he arrived.

He tries to not think about it.

***

A few days later, Alexander is more okay than he was before. He's gone to his classes and forced himself to eat something. Thomas sees him regularly throughout the day and always asks how he's doing. He wants to be annoyed but he's not, he just blushes any time Thomas asks.

Thomas, Alexander, and Madison work on the project again and actually seem to be getting somewhere. Alexander has created a thorough outline of what he wants, and though Thomas rolls his eyes, he has to admit that it's a work of genius. Madison looks at them curiously ( _what_ is going on between them? Are they secretly together or what?) but doesn't say anything.

They end the project meeting for the day, and Madison is glad to be out of their presence; he's not sure he could have handled much more of their _meaningful gazes_ and _cute little smiles_. He wants to smack them upside the head.

"I have to go," he says, and hurries away.

Thomas promises to see him later. Alexander waves his goodbye. And they're left alone. They gather their notebooks slowly.

Alexander swallows nervously. "Hey – I never told you, but thank you. For the other day."

Thomas smiles over at him warmly. "Of course." His smile transforms into a sarcastic smirk. "Can't have you skipping out on the project."

Alexander rolls his eyes, trying not to smile back. "I'm being serious. I'd probably still be in bed right now."

Thomas slings his backpack on one shoulder and looks at him honestly. "I hated seeing that."

Alexander is touched. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize," Thomas shakes his head. "Just – just call me or text me or something when it gets that bad. Even in the middle of the night, I don’t care, just – don't do that to yourself."

Their eyes meet and Alexander is at a loss for words. The corners of his lips tilt upward slightly of their own accord. Thomas's face is firm and unyielding. Alexander nods microscopically. "Yeah, okay. Yeah."

Thomas nods back, traces of emotion in his eyes.

They head off toward their dorm building in silence. When they reach the split at which they part ways, Alexander looks over at Thomas and says, "Don't freak out." Alexander doesn't let him react before he slinks his arms around Thomas's middle and cautiously hugs him.

Thomas is caught off guard, but it only takes him a moment to draw Alexander closer, embracing him warmly and smiling into his hair. This is weird. This is definitely weird. But it's a nice weird. A pleasant weird. A we-should-this-more kind of weird.

Alexander pulls away too soon. They awkwardly smile and nod at each other, avoiding eye contact.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Alexander says speedily, then skitters away down his hallway.

Thomas is left flushed and nervous, smiling to himself as he walks to his room.

***

Alexander sits down on his bed anxiously. He hugged Thomas. Why? He doesn't understand. Or maybe he does and he just doesn't want to. Either way, the answer isn't readily at his disposal, and it's frustrating.

John finally gets home and Alexander enlists his help. "John, I need to talk to you."

"You okay?" John asks, sitting down on Alexander's bed beside him.

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just . . ." He stops for a moment, then just spits it out. "I hugged Thomas."

John raises his eyebrows. "Thomas . . . _Jefferson_?" Alexander nods, and John looks at him for a moment. A smile creeps its way onto his face. "You like him."

"Like him? You mean like . . . like-like him?"

John laughs, "Yes, like-like."

"That's ridiculous," Alexander counters immediately. "Thomas is a pompous, arrogant, annoying –"

"You've started calling him Thomas," John points out matter-of-factly. He smiles at Alexander comfortingly. Alexander doesn't meet his eyes. "It's okay, Alex. To be honest . . . we've kind of seen it coming."

Alexander's head snaps up. "What?"

"Herc, Laf, and I," John explains. "We've noticed you've taken a liking to him recently."

"Um, no," Alexander says with a little laugh. "I could never have _feelings_ for Thom – Jefferson."

John chuckles and shakes his head. "Whatever you say."

"I don't!"

"I know, I know. But, just . . . don't shut it down immediately. You never know," John shrugs. "Something good might come of it."

"Nothing good comes from Jefferson," Alexander mumbles stubbornly.

"He got you out of bed," John reminds him, raising an eyebrow. "He made you eat, and talk. He's helped you, Alexander. He cares about you. And clearly you care about him, too."

Alexander doesn't reply. He thinks about it. Is that it? Is that why he's feeling so _weird_? He steps back from himself, looks at it objectively. His actions recently _do_ point to that conclusion. It _does_ seem that Jefferson has begun to care about him.

He sighs, shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't _think_ I like him, but . . ."

John places a hand on his shoulder. "Don't push it. It'll happen if it happens."

Alexander nods. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'm going to bed. Thank you, John." John smiles at him warmly.

"Get some sleep."

John changes his clothes and climbs into his own bed, slipping under the covers. Alexander turns over under his blanket and stares at the wall.

He can't stop wondering when Jefferson became Thomas.

***

"James, I have a problem."

"Thomas, I am busy. Why do you always have problems when I'm busy?"

"Because my problems always originate when you're not there to keep me from doing something stupid."

James sighs and drops his homework onto his bed. He looks up at Thomas, who, in his disheveled state, seems stressed and worried.

"What is it this time?"

"It's Alexander."

"How did I know?"

"Because all of my problems are about Alexander!" Thomas exclaims, throwing himself on the bed beside James. "He hugged me earlier."

James raises an eyebrow. "And this is a problem because . .?"

" _Because!_ " Thomas responds, slinging his arms into the air. "Because . . . Because I don't know! But it is!"

James rolls his eyes and turns to face Thomas directly. "Listen. I'll say this once. You have feelings for Alexander. You're going to deny it now, but later you'll realize I'm right. You always do."

"I do _not_ have feelings for _Alexander Hamilton_ ," Thomas argues, crossing his arms.

"You're only proving my point."

"Am not."

"You're a child."

"Shut up."

James sighs. He tries his hardest to stop being sarcastic. "Thomas, just think about it. You obviously care about him, and he obviously cares about you. Face the facts; it was always going to happen at some point."

"'It was always going to happen at some point'?" Thomas echoes incredulously. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Everyone saw it," James says with a shrug. "Even when you two were arguing in class, it was clear that there was _something_ there."

Thomas scoffs. "As if."

"Thomas," James deadpans. "When he stopped debating, you literally gave him a bag of candy and your number. You have no defense."

Thomas glares down at the floor in frustration. James has a point. It's an infuriating point, but it's a point.

James looks at him sympathetically. "Just think about it." He goes back to his homework, done with the conversation.

Thomas sighs and nods. Without another word, he exits the room.

How did he end up here?

***

_To: Jefferson_

_It's Alexander. Are you busy?_

Alexander tries not to chew on his lip as he waits for an answer. John, Lafayette, and Hercules all have class today, and Alexander feels himself getting lonely, and he's in a good enough state to know better right now.

But Thomas isn't answering. Ten minutes pass and Alexander texts again.

_To: Jefferson_

_Anybody there?_

Another ten minutes drag by. Alexander rolls out of his bed, phone in hand, and slips on his shoes. He doesn't want to let himself worry that Thomas isn't answering. He tries to push it out of his head.

He goes for a walk around campus, trying to get some fresh air to bring him out of his head. The day started out fine, he doesn't want it to get bad.

Without realizing it, he ends up walking toward the tree that Thomas showed him. He shrugs and figures it's a good enough place to stop for a few minutes.

He sits at the base of the tree, crosses his ankles, and watches the people milling about. He's about to text Thomas again when something falls on his head. He looks up in surprise and is shocked to find Thomas sitting in the branches.

"What the hell?" Alexander says, standing. "You didn't want to let me know you were there? I've been texting you."

"My phone's been off."

Something in his voice is unsettling. Alexander furrows his eyebrows. "You alright?"

"Mhm."

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm coming up."

Thomas shuffles in surprise, making room on the branch for Alexander to sit beside him. He stumbles up the tree clumsily, nearly falling backward when he sits down. Thomas grabs him by the shoulder and steadies him.

"What's going on?"

Thomas shrugs. "Just came to think."

"About what?"

"Are we on this level yet?" Thomas's face is joking, but his voice betrays him.

Alexander purses his lips. "Talk to me, Thomas."

He shakes his head nonchalantly. "It's seriously nothing. I just get in my own head sometimes."

"Well, me too," Alexander says, "and you helped me through _that_. I owe you one." Alexander leans forward a little to meet Thomas's eyes. He gives him a little smile.

Thomas feels warm. He sighs. "James said something about me, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"What'd he say? I thought you were friends," Alexander questions. His voice is defensive, always ready to fight, but Thomas smiles at him.

"Nothing like that," Thomas shakes his head. "He just pointed something out. And I'm worried that he's right."

Alexander thinks. He stares at the ground, wondering what Madison could have said about Thomas. What could he have pointed out that Thomas himself didn't already know? He sighs with a little shake of his head.

"If you didn't even notice it before he mentioned it," Alexander muses, "it's probably not even that big of a deal."

"But since he said it, it's been so blaringly obvious that I can't just forget about it."

Alexander shrugs. "So maybe it is true. So what?"

Thomas scoffs and shifts on the branch so that one leg dangles off each side. He stares at Alexander and raises an eyebrow. " _So_ it changes things. Everything."

Alexander mirrors his position. "How so?"

"Every time I think about – about the thing that the thing concerns –"

He puts a hand up. "I'm getting lost with all the things."

Thomas groans in frustration. "See, this is why I couldn't talk about it with you."

Alexander furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head. "I don't understand."

Thomas drops his face into his hands and mumbles something incoherent. Alexander leans forward, "What?"

"It's about you."

And, of course, Alexander is even more confused. What does any of this have to do with him?

"I'm not following."

"God, you're an idiot."

Alexander doesn't have a chance to respond before Thomas advances on him and brushes their lips together softly, pulling away just as quickly as he came forward. Alexander is breathless, and he nearly falls to the ground.

Their stare at each for the longest time. Alexander's brain has gone into overdrive. For the first time in his life, nothing comes to his mind.

Thomas feels himself beginning to panic. This is not what he had intended, this is not how he planned out his day. He wanted to sit up in this tree for a few hours and drown in his own existence before remerging into the world with the excuse of being busy. He did not plan on kissing Alexander Hamilton today.

Alexander doesn't seem as if he's going to say anything, so Thomas shuts his eyes in frustration at himself. When he opens them, Alexander's eyebrows are furrowed, as if deep in thought. _What could he be thinking about? Either leave right now or kiss me back_.

Alexander chooses the latter. He rushes forward, their lips colliding clumsily and passionately, his hands grasping at Thomas's shirt with fury. Thomas is taken aback, but he wastes no time; his hands reach up to clasp onto Alexander's shoulders, one hand inching up to wrap itself in his hair. He's vaguely aware of their lack of balance, but he ignores it in favor of Alexander's lips working their way around his.

Alexander lets out a moan that reverberates through Thomas's entire body, filling him with a fire so strong it engulfs them both. They inch closer, their chests nearly touching as Thomas tilts his head to get a better reach. Alexander is relentless, yanking Thomas closer by his shirt, then tangling his hands in his impossibly tight curls, softly tugging to elicit an ungodly sound from Thomas's throat.

Alexander pulls away to breathe, Thomas chasing his mouth as he does. Their breathing is labored as their eyes meet, wild and crazed.

And Alexander begins laughing. He laughs and laughs until Thomas's expression grows frustrated.

"What the hell, Hamilton?"

Alexander shakes his head, still giggling to himself. "Nothing, I just – I just kissed Thomas Jefferson. What the fuck?"

And now they're both laughing, their bodies shaking and their lungs gasping for air. Alexander rests his head on Thomas's shoulder. Thomas plants a gentle kiss to his hair.

They don't know how long it takes for them to drop from the tree, but they know that when they do, their lips are raw and the sky is dark.

***

Alexander returns to his dorm with an idiotic smile on his face. John is sitting on his bed, flipping through his phone, when he enters the room.

He smiles cautiously back at him. "What's gotten into you?"

Alexander just keeps grinning. He sits down on John's bed directly in front of him. He takes a deep breath and says, "I kissed Thomas."

John's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "You _what_?"

"Well, more accurately, I've _been_ kissing him. Since earlier."

John is shocked, to say the least, but Alexander looks so happy that he can't bring himself to warn him to be careful. Instead, he just says, "How?"

And Alexander begins his spiel, detailing how upset Thomas had seemed and how sad he looked and how he had never noticed before but Thomas is actually really beautiful and he's actually a really good kisser –

"I don't think I want the details," John laughs. "This is a good thing, right?"

Alexander thinks through the smile he hasn't been able to drop. "I think so. I hope so."

So John nods and smiles warmly back at him. "Good, Alexander. That's so good."

***

Thomas bursts into James's dorm obnoxiously, ignoring the distaste written on his roommate's face.

"You were right," he says immediately.

James raises his eyebrows. "I often am. You'll have to be more specific."

Thomas slings himself onto James's bed giddily. "I kissed Alexander. And then he kissed me. And then we kissed each other."

"That's typically how it works."

"Aren't you surprised?"

"Not at all."

"Don't you want to know how it happened?"

"Not particularly."

"I'm going to tell you anyway."

"I figured."

And Thomas starts to tell James exactly how everything happened. His roommate (Thomas can't think of his name – Arthur, maybe?) raises an eyebrow, trying to mind his business, but Thomas is just so loud that he can't focus on his book. Thomas ignores him, excitedly relaying the details of the occurrence.

"So what does this mean?" James asks when he's finished. "For you and Hamilton."

Thomas keeps grinning despite his worry. "I have no idea, but I don't care."

"You probably should," James advises, but he doesn't push it. He may act as though he doesn't care, but in all honesty, it's nice to see Thomas so happy about something, even if it does mean that he'll have to deal with the disgusting cuteness of Thomas and Alexander together.

Thomas leaves to go to his dorm and try to sleep, though he knows he won't be able to stop replaying the day in his mind.

***

Alexander shows up early for their project meeting the next day. His nerves are on edge. The jubilance from last night has turned into anxiety this morning. What if Thomas changes his mind? What if it didn't mean anything? And most ridiculously, what if it never actually happened at all?

But Thomas shows up early too, butterflies in his stomach as he smiles shyly at Alexander. "Hey."

"Hey."

They just stare for a moment, neither knowing what to say or do. They just look with sparkling eyes and nervous smiles.

Finally, Thomas says, "How are you?"

"Great."

"Me too."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Alexander flashes him a charming smile and Thomas is weak. _When did he become this?_

"Just kiss so we can get started."

Thomas and Alexander both snap their heads to look at Madison, who is rolling his eyes and taking his place at the table. They turn back to each other. Thomas smiles, pretending he's not as nervous as he is, and takes Alexander's chin, lifting his face to brush their lips together gently.

They sit down and begin working. Madison is, of course, made uncomfortable by their constant glances at each other, but they find themselves agreeing on much more. They actually get most of the plan done today.

Madison rushes away from them when they're done. Thomas and Alexander leave together.

***

A month later, Thomas and Alexander are sickeningly adorable and equally annoying. Thomas and Madison have taken to spending time with Alexander's friends, who are incredibly receptive to their relationship (as if they hadn't known from the beginning).

The two of them are constantly making jokes at each other and then sharing affectionate glances, holding hands under the table and standing much closer than necessary. There's a hardly a moment when one of them isn't touching the other.

They turn their finished project in to Washington, who smiles at them knowingly and smugly. They briefly wonder if he had set this up all along (probably).

They debate in class even worse than before, yelling and fighting back with all their might, except now instead of storming off at the end of class, they turn down a hallway and ravish each other senseless. Their relationship is common knowledge at this point, and if anyone hadn't heard through rumor, they would have figured it out by just looking at them. They stare at each other with so much emotion that it would be impossible to miss.

Everyone knows that it's Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton against the world, and nothing is going to stop them.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: alex and tjeffs actually did argue about coin currency versus paper currency, along with literally every other thing on the planet
> 
> i started writing this because i realized i've been feeling super depressed lately, like the way alex's depression works is literally completely based off mine, that's exactly how i've been so it's probably not at all in character for him but also i'm incredibly sorry if this triggers anybody else's depression. if it does, please let me know and i'll tag it i'm sorry 
> 
> this took me a week to write, and when i finally finished it i was so happy because i was like "i finally produced something good!!!!!" and then i read over it and died a little inside i'm sorry 
> 
> this is so incredibly out of character that i want to scream but i tried 
> 
> i read it about ten times looking for typos and everything but i still probably missed A Lot so i'm sorry about that too
> 
> thank you for reading i love you!!


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